DISCLAIMER: Battlestar Galactica is the creation of Glen A. Larson, and the reimagined universe of Battlestar Galactica 2003 is the intellectual property of Ronald D. Moore and David Eick. I do not own the rights to the Battlestar Galactica stories or characters. This is an AU work; no copyright infringement is intended, nor is any profit being made. This author does, however, reserve the rights to characters and plots of his own creation.
The Colonial Fleet's Tactical Officers School and branch was an offshoot of the Cylon War. Review showed that there was a need for an officer more broadly trained than traditional navigators, and there was at least one disaster. near the close of the war, when BSG 7, augmented to three battlestars, made a jump that resulted in one jumping directly into another, and the third, the battlestar Atlas, being so heavily damaged, and narrowly averting explosive decompression, by jumping into the debris field that she had to be scrapped. After several years, Fleet authorities realized that the pressure of the course made it incumbent on them to provide decompression points throughout the course. The most popular was the smoker.
It was close to the end of the first phase when the school's command announced there would be a smoker at the end of the week. Mike Kirikiadi was enthusiastic and looked forward to it; his roommate Felix Gaeta was much less interested.
"These blood sports are barbaric, Mike; they have no place in society, and mark my word, public opinion's going to turn against them real soon,."
"No way, Felix; they're what make us Colonials; boxing is the manliest art. Gods, I wouldn't miss it; wanna go?"
"Not really, but I'm not doing anything else; What'll I do if I someone wants to fight me?"
"You're fast; dance around them and wear them out; don't let 'em connect; get in a few good blows, and the match is over."
Not convinced, Felix said nothing.
The end of the week came, and almost everyone made their way to the gym. The lights were low, and over everything, a cloud of smoke loomed over the crowd. Mike lit up a fumarillo, while Felix declined. The crowd was loud, as people wondered who would call out whom. This was a no rank affair, and everyone was fair game. There was no shame in losing; only in putting up a poor fight. The audience appreciated the ringside banter as much as the fight.
The first couple of matches were nothing special; most only went a round or two; side bets were made and collected. The commanders and other senior officers in the front rows watched every single move; this wasn't just a way to relieve tension; it was a measure of the man; how did they react; did they shrink; were they overly aggressive; and it was a way for the senior officers to see things they hadn't seen in the schoolhouse.
Back in the cheap (free) seats Felix was battling nausea, while Mike was looking around the stands, seeing who was there, looking for one person in particular...and then he saw him. He lightly backhanded Felix against the elbow, "C'mon; let's go."
Felix was aghast, "What? Are you calling me out? " Felix had worked out with Mike before, and he was under no illusions about whom was in better shape.
"You? No; no way; I like you; I've got someone else in mind. I want you to stand with me." Then, concerned, he asked, "You will, won't you?"
Felix was thrilled. Throughout school, the other guys had never asked him to participate in any of their activities; in fact, they would invite him not to participate, and here was Mike, a Libran, sure, but a guy who not only knew, but accepted Felix. "Sure."
They moved forward, and Kirikiadi added himself to the list of participants; he had to include who he was going to call out but that was between him and the ref. Most of the people who fought that night kept on their coveralls, only removing their blouses, but Kirikiadi had been anticipating this, and had stripped to down to his Libran boxing shorts and taken off his blouse, leaving his torso bare; he was in the classic boxing outfit.
At his turn, Kirikiadi entered the ring, with Felix in his corner , and looked up at his mark. "C'mon Thorne, drag your fat ass down here. Don't worry if it takes a couple of trips, I've got all night." Lieutenant Alastair Thorne had been the bete noire of the entire class. He was the senior officer in the class, and one of the few who had gotten there as a result of patronage rather than merit. He was also, in the words of the Tauron gangs, "a dead man walking," who wouldn't make it past the first phase review, regardless of his support.
Thorne had always been able to rely on his loathsome personality to avoid situations like this, and he wasn't particularly afraid of a narcissistic nancy boy like, well, he wasn't quite sure what his name was, but he was in his class. Karickety, that was it. He made his way to ringside and noted that no one rose to stand with him. He pulled off his blouse and entered the ring.
Ringside, Commander Helena Cain leaned over to her neighbor, Commander Alex Ponder, and said "Five hundred cubits on Thorne." Ponder looked suspiciously at her, "I'll take your money; Kirikiadi has 15 kilos plus the reach on Thorne." "Don't underestimate Thorne; he's a sneaky little piece of crap." She would win either way; if he lost, she would call him to her office for some private "counseling."
In the ring, Kirikiadi faced Thorne, and his well-developed right pectoral muscle started a violent twitching. "Hey Thorne, look; this one's partial to you." The ref decided to give a little leeway in starting the match; everyone enjoyed it when there was some good banter between the fighters, and while Thorne offered nothing, Kirikiadi might be worth listening to for a while. The hatred for Thorne was not limited to the student body, but extended into the cadre, as well.
Like many poor college students throughout history, Mike Kirikiadi had mastered a few cheap skills that would entertain his friends; sleight of hand wasn't going to help him here, but he was an accomplished ventriloquist, and he had decided to have some fun at Thorne's expense.
While their gloves were being laced up, Kirikiadi looked down at his chest, and sotto voce said "Stop that; you're bothering Lieutenant Thorne. " Back came, in a trembling falsetto, "I can't help myself, he's sooooo handsome." Not expecting anything like this, the audience burst out laughing, as much because of the unexpected nature as well as it being funny. "Stop that Karickety."
And then ensued a bizarre conversation between Kirikiadi and his chest. "Oohhhhh Riki, I don't think he likes me."
"Don't worry; he doesn't like me, either."
"What are we going to do?"
"I'm just going to have to kick his ass."
"Do you really think you can? He's so biiiig and sooo strong."
"I..." From the other corner, Thorne had reached his breaking point, "SILENCE! Silence at once; I'm tired of this impertinence from you Karickety; you and your talking teat." The laughter this time was at Thorne; they may have thought Kirikiadi was pushing Thorne too far, but Thorne's reaction was unnecessary. In his corner, Kirikiadi flashed a brilliant smile at Thorne; Kirikiadi was considered one of the best looking men in the entire schoolhouse; and contemptuously tapped his square chin with one of his gloves.
The bell rang, and Kirikiadi advanced in classic boxing style; Thorne, on the other hand, came running out of his corner with both arms swinging in giant circles in front of him, eyes wide. Momentarily, the old story about the best swordsman on Kobol came back to Kirikiadi; the best swordsman doesn't fear the second best, but he does fear the worst, because he has no idea what the worst is going to do. And Thorne was obviously the worst boxer in the Fleet; no, in the Colonies. Kirikiadi retreated while he re-evaluated what he was going to do. Even though Kirikiadi was right handed, he gave Thorne a straight left to the heart which knocked him flat on his ass, sitting up, legs out in front of him.
This was too fast; Kirikiadi planned to hurt Thorne, and needed to decide how long he could carry him without sympathy moving in Thorne's favor. On the canvas, Thorne knew he had to get up; no one would accept that this had been a knockout blow. He took his eight count, got up, slowly, and assumed a more traditional stance.
Kirikiadi moved in and delivered a few jabs which Thorne couldn't deflect, and Thorne tried a few pitty-pat punches, but that was it before the round ended. Kirikiadi retired to his corner, where Felix had a towel ready for him. "How long d'ya think I should carry him, Felix? He's worse than I thought he'd be." "Can't you just knock him out so we can get out of here; it stinks." "That's me, Felix." The bell rang and Kirikiadi returned to the fight.
He slowly circled Thorne, easily avoiding Thorne's punches, responding with a few well directed, carefully pulled punches that were guaranteed to hurt Thorne, but not so much that they would knock him down. This went on for a few rounds and Kirikiadi realized that the crowd was turning on him. He had heard a few "boos" from the crowd, and he knew that the next round would be it. He turned to Felix, "Let's go to the O Club and get a few drinks after this round. I'm gonna deck him."
With his first punch,. a right cross, Kirikiadi caught Thorne in the chin, and Thorne went down. Kirikiadi circled him while the ref was counting, "C'mon geddup, geddup; I didn't hit you that hard." The audience agreed, so Thorne dragged himself to his feet, trying to figure out how to end it, and then it came to him. As they squared off, Thorne let loose with a low flying uppercut, designed to hit Kirikiadi just below the waist. Kirikiadi sensed it coming and shifted his leg and arched back, but he still took a glancing blow; where it was, a glancing blow, even wearing a cup, was all it took to drive him to his knees.
The crowd was on its feet, booing and jeering Thorne, who stepped forward, "I'm sorry' I'm sorry; I didn't mean to do that." The ref straight-armed him and forced him back, while he talked to Kirikiadi. "Say the word and he's disqualified." Kirikiadi shook his head, and from between clenched teeth, "No, I can finish him; give me the eight count. " "If he knocks you out, I can't come back and disqualify him." "I know; I'm ready." Then the ref started what was later considered to be the longest eight count in Colonial boxing history. Thorne couldn't figure it out; he knew he should have been disqualified for the low blow, and then he saw the look in Kirikiadi's eyes, and he was afraid. Kirikiadi got to his feet at the end of the eight count, and the bell rang, indicating the end of the round. He returned unsteadily to his corner, looking for Felix; "Ice." Felix handed him the ice pack, which he thrust into his shorts. "Bastard; I didn't think he'd try something like that."
The bell rang, and the two fighters advanced to the center. Kirikiadi didn't waste any time. Three quick jabs, a feint, and then the uppercut that ended the round with Thorne flat on his back. The ref raised Kirikiadi's hand in victory, and to scattered applause from the audience. It wasn't that big a deal to them.
Three days later, after a some intense one on one Pyramid, which Felix won-Kirikiadi was a physically stronger player, but he didn't have any moves that didn't require strength, while Felix was lithe and fast. They entered the sauna, Kirikiadi as the gods had made him, and Felix with his towel wrapped around him. It was no secret that the Librans on base met several times a month at the saunas to beat each other with saplings, drink, and go back and forth between the saunas and the frigidairuium. In addition to their other barbarous rites, Librans were much happier out of their clothes than in them. The parks on Libran were full of happy Libran naturists running around and sunning themselves. In the sauna, Mike saw the birch saplings that were such a part of the culture on Libran. "Hey Felix, you ever used those?" Felix looked distastefully at the saplings, "No." "It's easy; you use them on my back and legs, like this," and he whooshed them through the steam. "Got it?" "Yeah;" Felix was being unusually untalkative.
After a few unsatisfactory whacks, Kirikiadi turned to Felix, "Lie down; I'll show you how it's done." Felix unwrapped his towel and lay face down. Standing over him, stark naked with saplings raised over him like one of the ancient classic statues stood Mike Kirikiadi. The door opened, and in walked their bete noire, Lieutenant Thorne who took in this, from his viewpoint, sickening and unnatural tableau. "What; what's going on here?"
Kirikiadi turned to him, and gave him his most lascivious leer, "I asked Mr. Gaeta here to sleep with me, sir, and he, he turned me down, so I'm punishing him. Wanna get in a few whacks? I'll hold him down for you." Still leering, he advanced towards Thorne, extending the saplings, handle forward, so the contemptible little swine couldn't accuse him of trying to hit him.
Thorne was genuinely horrified, and he stepped back, stumbling over the door jamb. "Get away from me you..." he bit his tongue, because he knew that if he vocalized the next word that he wanted to say, it would end his career in a second, before continuing, "disgust...me." And he walked away, still grumbling to himself.
Feeling well pleased with himself, Kirikiadi sat down across from Felix, looking at the door, wondering if he could have played that any better, deciding that he couldn't have. Felix, meanwhile, turned and looked at his roommate. He took in a breath before saying, "You know, Riki, if you had offered to sleep with me, I wouldn't have said no."
One of the lessons at the Tactical Officers' School was when faced with the unexpected, come up with a diversion. Still looking at the door, Kirikiadi evaluated the entire situation. It was the first time Felix had ever called him Riki, not to mention his offer. Too much for a glib response. "You know, pubic fat doesn't do Lieutenant Thorne any favors at all." Angrily, Felix threw his towel at Kirikiadi, "Were you listening to me?" "I'm sorry; what?"
Felix started, "I said, that if you had offered to sleep with me, I wouldn't say no." Riki looked at his friend, "I totally understand Felix, but even though you're my friend, you'd have to get in line behind most of the women in the Fleet, and even some of the guys; all of this is in great demand," and he waved his hands over his whole body, "and I would even want to sleep with me", The door opened again, interrupting him, and this time, the company was more appealing to Riki. Two of the women in the class ahead of theirs, Betty and Dahlia, came in. Riki was transfixed; they were both to his taste, but they turned their backs on him and turned to Felix. "Hi Felix," "Hi, Felix," "Hi girls." Riki cleared his throat, "Hi." They ignored him. Louder this time, he cleared his throat again, and said "Hi Betty; hi Dahlia."
Betty turned around, "Oh, hi Riki." Dahlia didn't even turn around, just turning her hand around and waving it at him, "Hi Riki." Riki checked his breath, and then his pits, and couldn't believe that they preferred Felix to him. Each of them grabbed Felix by one of his arms and took him from the sauna. To his dying day, Riki believed that Felix had accomplished something that he had only fantasized about and read about in the letters in Playhouse Magazine. Felix never brought it up, and one day, Riki asked him directly. Felix winked and smiled, but said nothing, knowing that it Riki would agonize over it. It would be years, though, before Felix was comfortable enough with another guy to make the same offer he had to Riki.